


there are still beautiful things

by acollectionofdaydreams



Series: The Hannah Montana AU [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Autumn, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Indiana, M/M, Mentions of past child abuse, not too graphic but take care, the hannah montana au continued, way back home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:35:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25519651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acollectionofdaydreams/pseuds/acollectionofdaydreams
Summary: Eliot goes back to Indiana and back to Quentin in the aftermath of revealing his true identity and changing his career and life forever. The echoes of the past were never going to just go away though. This is a little sequel to my Hannah Montana AU, Way Back Home.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: The Hannah Montana AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848802
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	there are still beautiful things

**Author's Note:**

> I think you probably should read Way Back Home before reading this fic, because there's just a lot of context you're gonna be missing if you don't. I was so excited to return to this universe though, and I listened to seven by Taylor Swift pretty much the whole time I wrote and edited this. You don't have to know the song, but that is definitely The Vibe of it all. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The weeks after Eliot revealed his double life to the world were a very weird time.

He’d spent some of it laying low at his grandmother’s house, due to the fact that every newspaper in Hollywood was currently vying to contact him for an exclusive. Jane had worked her magic though and gotten a press release out via their preferred source, and it hadn’t blown up nearly as spectacularly as it very well could have. He also hadn’t really minded the time spent in hiding, if he was honest. He kind of had everything he could ever need riding out the storm with him.

Margo had opted to stay in town for a while for moral support, which he was grateful for, and his grandmother was a force to be reckoned with if any reporters tried to get too close to the farm. Then, of course, there was Quentin. 

They’d spent the weeks following the official start to their relationship in what could only be described as a honeymoon phase, stealing kisses and sharing midnights any chance they could get. Margo had found it endearing for approximately 48 hours before she’d declared herself done with the two of them and threatened to start packing. Eliot suspected she was secretly happy for him though. He’d seen her when she was actually annoyed, and her eyerolls lately had definitely been more of the fond variety, so he felt comfortable continuing to push his luck.

That time had inevitably run out, of course, and Eliot had found himself needing to go back to LA way earlier than he’d actually wanted to. When he’d landed in Indiana back on that fateful July day, he never could have predicted how sad he’d be the next time he was standing on the runway.

“Promise you’ll call me when you land?”

Quentin was standing in front of him shuffling his feet as he looked up at Eliot with the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen. It broke Eliot’s heart. 

“I’ll call you as soon as we reach cruising altitude,” Eliot replied. He grinned, “My plane has wifi, you know. I’m not a peasant.”

Quentin laughed at that, but it was the kind of laugh that turned watery halfway through as he fought back the tears clouding his eyes. One of them escaped, and Eliot reached out and brushed it off of his cheek. He gave Quentin a sad smile.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised. “You won’t even have time to miss me.”

Quentin whined, “I already miss you.”

And oh, this boy was going to be the death of him.

Lest he do something embarrassing like agree with him, Eliot sighed fondly as he said, “Come here.”

He reached out to pull Quentin in, and he settled willingly against Eliot’s chest, arms wrapped around his waist as tightly as he could manage. 

“My trick worked,” Quentin mumbled, face pressed against Eliot’s shirt, “now I’m never letting you go.”

Eliot laughed and leaned down to drop a kiss onto the crown of Quentin’s head as he squeezed him impossibly tighter. If only it really worked like that.

“The time is gonna fly by, Q,” he said.

He wasn't sure if he was reassuring Quentin or himself, if he was being honest, but either way he was clinging to the sentiment with everything he had. The trip back to LA was an essential one because he did still have an album coming out. He’d decided he wanted to release it as Eliot instead of Hale as well, which had thrown a wrench in pretty much the whole thing and delayed the release by several weeks.

Every single aspect of his brand was going to have to be overhauled in order to do that. The entire launch of his album, from the promotion to his Spotify profile, had to be reconfigured. He was in for at least a solid month of interviews, studio time, and board meetings, which Fogg had emphasized with much exasperation. It was going to be draining and demanding, and he’d probably not have time to think about much of anything else. He knew he would still manage to though. The boy currently wrapped up in his arms was evidence enough of that.

That had been late August, and by the beginning of October, Eliot was practically crawling out of his skin at his final album launch meeting. It had been one ordeal after another, but they’d finally done it. He was no longer Hale in any formal capacity, and the world was set to receive the first album from Eliot Waugh in just seven days. He’d done every interview Jane had scheduled for him willingly, and he’d even managed to squeeze a new song onto the album at the very last minute. Somewhat to his great surprise, his fans had taken to the transition exceptionally well too. He’d dodged several questions about his mysterious new love interest from Indiana, but other than that, the reception had been overwhelmingly positive. He couldn’t have been luckier.

After all of that work was done though, he really only had one thing on his mind, and that was the plane that was currently being prepared for him at LAX. He and Quentin hadn’t been able to talk as often lately as harvest season had reached its peak in Indiana, and Q was very busy with all of that. He’d had half a mind to complain to his grandma about keeping Quentin so busy on the farm, but he’d thought better of it. Some arguments were just not worth starting.

Fortunately, the end of Quentin’s seasonal employment was coinciding with Eliot’s return, which meant that they were going to have plenty of time for each other over the next three weeks before Eliot had to get back to work rehearsing for tour. He was thinking only about that as he boarded his jet, not having to worry about sneaking out in the dead of night for once, and settled in for the five hour plane ride. 

When he woke up from what must have turned into a nap somewhere over Nebraska, it was to the feel of wheels skidding along the runway and bright orange light slanting through the window as the sun dipped below the horizon. His leg bounced impatiently as he waited for the all clear to gather his bags and make it to the open door. Once he did, he was greeted with just about the best sight in the world. Parked a few feet away from the runway at the end of the dirt road was a familiar dark blue pickup truck, and leaning against that truck with a grin on his face was Eliot’s boyfriend. 

He only allowed himself one moment to take in the sight before he found himself hurrying down the stairs. He dropped his bags at the bottom and opened up his arms just as Quentin crashed into him.

He let out a little _oof_ at the impact, because Quentin was definitely not holding back, but he only stumbled a little before steadying them both. 

“God, I missed you,” Quentin breathed.

Eliot gave him a tight squeeze before taking a step back to cup his face between his hands. He leaned in to give him a hello kiss, which was meant to actually be fairly quick, but it got a little more intense when Quentin gripped Eliot’s waist and pulled him in close. It’s not like Eliot minded though. He thought he could probably lose himself for the rest of the day right there, kissing like a crazy person in the middle of the runway. 

The reality was that it was fall in Indiana though, and that meant there was a chill to the air that there hadn’t been back in LA now that the sun was setting. He shivered involuntarily, which caused Quentin to laugh against his lips as he reluctantly pulled away. He ran his hands up and down Eliot’s bare arms once, the touch causing Eliot to shiver for a different reason this time, before sliding one hand down to lace their fingers together.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s get your bags and get you in the truck before you freeze, California boy.”

Eliot would have loved to have replied with a witty comeback, but he _was_ a little cold, and besides, he was just too happy to be on top of his game. So, he picked up his abandoned bags and followed Quentin over to the warmth of his truck. Quentin reached over to take one of his hands once they got inside, leaving the other to rest on the steering wheel, and turned onto the familiar highway that led towards Eliot’s grandmother’s farm.

“You know,” Eliot said, running his thumb over the back of Quentin’s knuckles, “you could just take me back to your house instead. I can see Grandma tomorrow.”

Quentin squeezed his hand and shot him a smile. He replied, “Oh no, I am not going to piss off your grandma. We both know she’d show up at my place with a shotgun if she thought I was keeping you away from her.”

Quentin was joking, but it wasn’t exactly far from the truth. His grandmother _was_ a force to be reckoned with. He sighed theatrically as he leaned back against the headrest.

“Fine,” he said, “but you’re staying for dinner tonight because daddy needs his Quentin time.”

Quentin pinched the back of his hand for that and said, “I thought we went over this. I am absolutely not going to call you daddy.”

“Mmm, give it time,” Eliot replied.

Quentin rolled his eyes at him, and Eliot felt a smile spreading across his face. He didn’t think he was ever going to get tired of this, just the easy back and forth the two of them had. He had Margo, of course, who knew him better than he knew himself most days, but what he had with Q was something else. Something rare. 

Incredibly, it had been like that during the weeks spent apart too. While Eliot would have preferred to feel Quentin’s laughter against his chest when he teased him or to press a kiss to the corner of his smile, the distance had done nothing to dim the electric current flowing between them.

They chatted as they ambled along the tree-lined, two lane highway and eventually turned onto the dirt road that led to the farm. Eliot marveled out the window at the changing of the seasons, like a true Californian, because he’d grown unaccustomed to the warming colors of the leaves and the now brown grass that had taken the place of the previously lush green fields. It was nice. Sometimes a little change to routine was refreshing.

Once they arrived, Eliot’s grandma ran out onto the porch to greet him like she hadn’t seen him in years instead of weeks, and he laughed as she hugged him tightly.

Over his shoulder, she said to Quentin, “Thanks for bringing my boy home, dear!”

Eliot stepped back and noted the pointed look Quentin was giving him. Yeah, okay, maybe he was a little delusional about hiding out at Q’s place for the night. He had to admit he was glad to be here though now that he’d dropped his bags on the floor of his bedroom and settled into the comforting feeling of the place. He could hear his grandma downstairs telling Quentin that he’d better stay for dinner and Quentin’s answering “yes, ma’am.” It was a little thing, but it was just another small miracle to Eliot, that he’d found that in _this_ place. 

He heard the back screen door slam, followed by the sound of his grandma walking up the hallway stairs. He turned his head just in time for her to knock on the door and greet him with a smile.

“I sent Quentin out to fetch some squash from the garden,” she explained, and Eliot nodded.

She made her way into the bedroom and sat down on the mattress next to him. She was being unnaturally quiet and a little awkward, and Eliot watched as her smile faded into a less warm expression and she chewed on her lower lip. She clearly had something to say, and he was a little too worried about what might have her looking like that to ask what it was.

Finally, she said, “Your mother called.”

Eliot’s heart skipped a beat in his chest, and he felt like his whole body went ice cold. His head jerked up to meet her careful expression, and he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

He asked, “What did she want?”

His grandmother sighed and said, “Your big news reached them after the concert, I guess, and she wanted to ask me if I knew how you were doing.”

Eliot would be lying if he said he hadn’t considered that announcing his identity to the world meant that his parents would find out exactly what he was up to. He’d been counting on them not doing anything about it though, which seemed to have been a naive plan.

He asked, “What did you say?”

“I told her you were doing fine,” she said, “and that I didn’t know when you would be back in town.”

He nodded his head, grateful for her understanding.

He said, “I don’t want to see her.”

“I know,” his grandmother replied. “She did mention coming to visit next time you were here, but I told her that wasn’t up to me.”

Eliot felt that cold feeling spread throughout his limbs again. Usually he could remind himself that he was safe now when thoughts of his parents came up, that he was hundreds of miles away and they had no way of finding him. That wasn’t true here though. If they knew that he was in town, then they would know exactly where to find him. The idea of them turning up here and ruining the safe world he’d built, of them being around Quentin... it was nothing short of horrifying.

“El,” his grandmother said, gently enough to snap him out of it. He looked up at her, and she continued, “As far as I’m concerned, your folks aren’t welcome on this farm. You’re old enough to decide for yourself if you want them in your life, and I’ll back your call.”

He nodded at her, feeling some of the anxiety leave his body as he slowly exhaled. Then they both heard the slam of the screen door as Quentin came back inside, and the tension in the room dissipated. She squeezed his hand and got up to head back downstairs, and he sat there for just a minute, letting his world align itself again.

A few days into Eliot’s stay was the harvest homecoming festival. To call it a festival was actually being generous because it was basically a normal weekend farmer’s market on steroids, with local vendors from several towns over showing up and live music playing at the courthouse square. It was a big deal in Fairmount though, and most of the town would show up at some point throughout the three day event. 

Eliot and Quentin made plans to go, for lack of anything better to do, and that’s how they found themselves walking hand in hand along a crowded sidewalk downtown on Saturday afternoon. The air was crisp, and Eliot had an apple cider in the hand that wasn’t holding Quentin’s. Quentin, meanwhile, was dragging Eliot over to nearly every single booth to look at all the little trinkets and crafts for sale. Eliot would have found it tedious if it were anybody else, but he thought there probably wasn’t anything about Quentin that he wouldn’t find endearing at this point. It was a very gross dilemma that he was never going to let Margo find out about.

They’d been walking for long enough to stumble across a funnel cake stand, and Eliot had gotten one for them to share. That was how they’d ended up sitting with knees pressed together on a park bench with the tray situated between them as they took in the whole scene.

“I know it’s not much, but I’ve always loved Harvest Homecoming,” Quentin said.

Eliot turned to him with a smile and asked, “Really?”

Quentin nodded.

“It just feels like fall is finally here, you know? It’s the start of Halloween and scary movies and all that,” he explained.

Eliot hadn’t actually given it much thought, really. He didn’t have very many good fall memories from his childhood with harvest season and all on the farm, and he’d escaped to an essentially seasonless Los Angeles where fall was just a sometimes slightly less warm part of the year when people dressed in slutty costumes for themed parties. He usually couldn’t think about things like harvest season and actual fall without flashing back to the life he’d once lived, the life that was meant for him to keep living.

“Hey,” Quentin said, his voice quiet just between them, “where did you go just now?”

Eliot shook the thoughts out of his mind as he looked back at him.

“Nowhere,” he smiled, “I was just thinking about how you better let me have some more of this funnel cake before it’s gone. They don’t make ‘em like this in Santa Monica.”

Quentin gave him an odd look, like he was trying to read between the lines and find what Eliot wasn’t telling him, but he let it go and passed the tray back over to Eliot as requested.

A few days later, they were out on the most cheesy date Eliot had ever planned in his life. He’d dragged out the old quilts from the cabinet in his grandma’s hallway and brought them out to a field behind the farm with a bottle of wine for a night of stargazing. The smile it brought to Quentin’s face when he explained his plans was worth any potential embarrassment about his over the top romantic streak though. 

It was a clear night, and they were curled up in the bed of Quentin’s truck, backs pressed against the cab and legs tangled together stretched out in front of them under blankets. Quentin’s hand was on Eliot’s thigh, and Eliot reached down to grab it as he passed the wine with the other hand. As their fingers laced together, he pressed his head back against the cool exterior of the truck.

The field was freshly baled, so it was just at that slightly grown stage where the grass was tall enough to sway in the light autumn breeze, and the air sent a chill right through him. Quentin scooted closer in response, and Eliot gratefully accepted the warmth.

It was in that hushed moment of stillness that the lingering thoughts at the back of his mind started gently nudging themselves into his awareness again, like a persistent knock of an unwanted guest. He really wasn’t sure why he hadn’t told Q about his mom calling yet. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to ruin their time together. Maybe he didn’t want to make his past Quentin’s problem this early on. Or maybe, Eliot was just a coward. It’s not like Quentin didn’t _know_.

The whole town had known to some extent, in the way that no secret is really a secret in a small town. People talked and assumed and stared. There was a day though, when he was seven, that Eliot had found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, as he seemed to so often do, and had gotten a red and puffy eye from his father’s backhand for his troubles. He’d run out crying and found himself down the road at his grandmother’s house, tucked away on the floor in the back corner of the closet in his bedroom. No one was home, but she never locked her doors back in those days. 

His eye had stopped stinging for the most part by the time he’d cocooned himself behind a wall made up of his grandpa’s suits. The tears kept spilling though, and he wasn’t planning on coming out until he heard the rumble of his father’s truck down the dirt road, the telltale sign that he’d worked himself up enough that he needed to go to the bar and drink his anger away.

He was surprised though when he heard the front door to the house swing open, followed by the sound of feet bounding up the stairs.

“El!”

His head shot up at the sound of Quentin’s voice. Mr. Coldwater must have stopped by to pick up their produce for the store. It wasn’t like it was out of the ordinary for Quentin to seek him out if he tagged along on those errands. Usually his grandmother and Quentin’s father would end up talking for long enough that he and Q would have plenty of time to play out in the yard.

“Eliot! Are you home?”

Quentin’s voice carried down the hall, and Eliot cleared his throat. His voice still broke though as he called out, “I’m in here!”

Quentin’s footsteps slowed as he approached, and Eliot flinched a little when the closet door swung open.

Quentin looked at him for a few seconds, assessing the situation, before asking, “Do you want to go play?”

Eliot sniffled and looked down at Quentin’s shoes as he shook his head ‘no’. Quentin chewed on his lower lip for a moment before shrugging and climbing inside the closet as well. It took some shuffling for them to both fit in the little space Eliot had claimed for himself, but they ended up pressed shoulder to shoulder, backs against the far wall. Eliot’s knees were tucked up against his chest, and Quentin stretched his legs out in front of him so that his feet were practically at the door. 

Barely above a whisper, Eliot said, “You should tell me a story, Q.”

And so just like that, he did, regaling Eliot with the plot of whatever the latest Harry Potter book he’d read was, and Eliot allowed himself to get lost in the tales of magic and friendship and adventure. Quentin never asked about the welt forming on Eliot’s cheek, and Eliot didn’t bother to hide his sniffles and tears. It was a moment that stuck with him even if their friendship had drifted apart with age and circumstance.

In the present, Quentin knocked Eliot’s foot with his own, and Eliot hummed as he turned his head to look at him.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Quentin said.

Eliot shrugged.

“I’m just thinking,” he said.

He looked back up at the sky as Quentin waited patiently for him to elaborate. He could probably get away with letting it go again. He thought maybe he didn’t really want to though.

So, he said, “I was supposed to inherit this field.”

He could see Quentin’s confused frown in the corner of his eye as he asked, “What?”

Eliot nodded. He said, “This was supposed to be where I’d build a house, marry a pretty girl, have babies, and carry on the family business before I ran away and became the black sheep instead.”

Quentin shifted against him, and Eliot turned to face him so that their bodies were angled together, hands clasped between them.

Quentin asked, “Is there a reason you brought me here tonight?”

He was such a perceptive little thing. A million little white lies sprung to Eliot’s mind before he settled on a, “Maybe.”

Eliot worried his thumb on the back of Quentin’s hand, rubbing quick little circles into his skin, while he thought about where to start. He could feel Quentin’s wide eyes on him, so earnest in their openness.

“So, my mom called my grandma,” he said, “after the concert.”

Quentin squeezed his hand tightly as he asked, “What did she want?”

“To see me, apparently,” Eliot scoffed.

Quentin’s eyes widened a little, and he was quiet for a moment before asking, “What did you say?”

Eliot replied, “I said no, obviously.”

Quentin nodded and loosened his grip on Eliot’s hand, massaging his knuckles gently instead. 

He said, “That’s fair. You get to decide who gets to be a part of your life, and you know I’ll support you no matter what.”

Eliot felt a warm feeling glowing in his chest, and the smile he shot Quentin was entirely involuntary as the bright and content feeling filled him up. He scooted closer, so that their knees were fully pressed together, and said, “I’m glad I’m here with you tonight.”

Quentin leaned in the rest of the way to press their foreheads together, his nose brushing up against Eliot’s as he said, “I am too.”

Eliot grinned and pressed forward to kiss Quentin’s lips once, gently. He could hardly resist when they were this close. Quentin sighed happily as they separated, leaving his forehead resting against Eliot’s.

“You wanna talk about it some more?” he asked quietly.

Eliot genuinely thought about it. He didn’t want to keep things from Quentin, and now that he’d opened up, he wasn’t sure why he’d been waiting at all. There probably was a lot more to say and digest, but the more he thought about it, he found that there wasn’t an urgency to any of it right now at least. They had time. Eliot had time to figure it all out. So, he shook his head and leaned back in instead. Quentin tactfully didn’t argue, choosing to follow Eliot’s lead and climb into his lap, bracketing his knees on either side of Eliot’s hips as he deepened their kiss. Eliot wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him close, the autumn chill forgotten in the heat between them. 

Maybe he’d never build a house in this field or fulfill his family’s plans for him on this once-cursed ground, but he still felt like just maybe, it held a new beginning anyway.

A couple of days before Eliot had to leave, they were out on the old wooden porch swing after dinner at his grandmother’s house. A sense of urgency had fallen over them in the last few days, like an itch beneath the skin, as the end to Eliot’s stay grew closer. They were always touching, in some little way, which manifested itself at that moment with Quentin’s ankle hooked around his and Eliot’s fingers drumming on Quentin’s knee. They weren’t saying the words yet because acknowledging the upcoming ‘goodbye’ would make it real. For the time being, they could still live in this moment that was theirs to hold.

Eliot was thinking about it though. He’d never been all that great at living in the moment.

Specifically, he was imagining himself tucked away in tour buses and hotel rooms alone, grasping at the few precious minutes he would have between shows to not let this slip through his fingers. It was going to be hard. Rehearsals would be grueling over the next few weeks, and after that, he’d barely have a moment to think, much less keep in touch. He’d always loved touring, but now that he had a reason to stand still, all of that moving around felt more like a trap than like freedom.

Then he got an idea.

“Hey, Q.”

Quentin turned his gaze from the field back towards Eliot. He raised his eyebrows in question.

“So, this might be a little crazy,” Eliot began, a little unsteady, “but what if you came with me when I go on tour in a few weeks?”

Quentin stared at him wide eyed for a few seconds before surprising Eliot by launching forward and kissing him. Eliot caught him on instinct and laughed against his lips. He muttered, “Please tell me that’s a yes.”

Quentin pulled away and said, “Yes, of course, oh my god. I mean, I’ll have to talk to your grandma and find out when she wants me to start working again, but we can figure that out.”

Eliot nodded eagerly as he grinned back at Quentin’s excited tone. He said, “Yeah, of course, Jane will take care of all of your flights, but Q, I want to share this with you. I can’t imagine spending the next several months alone.”

“God, me neither,” Quentin rushed out. “I was definitely going to cry about it when you left this weekend.”

Eliot laughed, but not unkindly, because he knew damn well that he was going to do the same.

In the midst of his pure relief, the words nearly passed his lips without him noticing. He meant it with his whole heart though when he said, voice full of wonder, “I love you.”

Quentin stilled as he looked at him, and Eliot had a second to worry that maybe it was too soon. They hadn’t said it yet, even though the words had been flowing between them with every touch for some time now. Then Quentin smiled.

“I love you, too, El,” he said.

And when Eliot leaned in to kiss him, he knew he was done saying goodbye to things that made him feel like this. Whatever was to come his way, this was only the beginning of it, and what a marvelous beginning it was.


End file.
